


submit; promise-bound

by MahoganyDoodles



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: 2020 Smutfest, Day 6: The Lab, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gift Exchange, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, NSFW, Seven Year Gap, Shameless Smut, TPTH Vegebul Smutfest, Valentine's Day, Vegeta is a sub for Bulma and you can't change my mind, and, tpth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahoganyDoodles/pseuds/MahoganyDoodles
Summary: War drums beat the sound of surrender.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 23
Kudos: 89
Collections: TPTH Vegebul Smutfest





	submit; promise-bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Red/gifts).



> Wrote this as part of a Valentine’s Day gift exchange for the ever incredible [Lady_Red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Red/pseuds/Lady_Red) from her prompt 'Promise' and with significant inspiration from the Smutfest prompt 'The Lab'. Here’s hoping to do justice for the queen of smut herself and HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! 
> 
> A huge thanks to [bitchytimemachine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchytimemachine/pseuds/bitchytimemachine) and [starboygoku](http://insecure.archiveofourown.org/users/starboygoku) for looking over this piece and giving feedback and an ESPECIALLY especially big thank you to [bitchytimemachine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchytimemachine/pseuds/bitchytimemachine) for running this event at the same time!!
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MahoganyDoodles) and Discord under the same name!

The restraints tightened on his wrists, stretched as far as they could go. Stronger than last time—to be expected, his wife was a brilliant inventor, not to be underestimated—but he could still snap them easily without ascending. For all his wife  _ was _ brilliant, this was one challenge she had yet to solve, and he doubted she ever would. Not even Briefs money could invent material strong enough to hold a Super Saiyan captive.

Cool gel slicked the inside of his wrists; the cuffs slid smoothly across his skin. Hm. Considerate, although completely unnecessary. He could take whatever punishment her weak human body could dole out and more. Yes, he liked to be in control, but sometimes he didn’t mind the illusion that Bulma could overpower him, to have him play to her whims: he even enjoyed it. Which was why he had asked her to do so tonight. Domestic life could just be so… boring. Without Kakarot, without any powerful new foe to battle, without his dreams of revenge on Frieza, he’d grown mundane. Training his son was the pride of any Saiyan’s life, of course, and Bulma was always ready for a fight, but even those activities had grown monotonous and he craved the desperate energy of battle from days when he had a goal to fight towards.

Through the wall, he could hear the click of the door closing to Trunks’s room. She coddled the boy entirely too much.

The soft, even pace of her steps began from down the hall—odd when she normally ran everywhere, always in a hurry or undertaking her tasks with manic energy—but she was drawing nearer and nearer now, his body tensing and relaxing, anticipation of the battle to come radiating deep from his bones, the smooth sheets underneath reflecting the heat of his nude back. Soon she’d turn the handle, enter the room, and her smooth curves would be gliding over his skin—

Another door scraped open. And  _ not _ the one to her room.

Vegeta threw his head back on the pillow, a huff of hot breath leaving his throat. Of  _ course _ she was in the bathroom, slave to earthling vanity that she was. No, it wasn’t enough to tie him up, leave him with a wink and a promise that she’d be back soon, that she just had to tuck Trunks into bed and she’d be right back.  _ Fifteen _ minutes later when he finally thought his wait was over, she just  _ had _ to doll herself up to match human beauty standards that he couldn’t give a flying fuck about.

He wasn’t a man who liked to wait.

From this vantage, his hearing was sharper and he could hear every rustle of fabric, every movement of skin across skin. He stared at the uneven surface of the ceiling, willing himself to think of anything but the little breathy moans he knew Bulma was using to taunt him. His head fell to the side, hoping the pillow would muffle at least  _ half _ of his oversensitive hearing. Hm. The woman had shoved her bed closer to her dresser, for some reason. He’d noticed it before, but had chosen not to dwell on such insignificant details. Now, he had nothing better to do.

On second thought—no. Not even he was bored enough to contemplate Bulma’s redecorating whims.

The bathroom door opened, putting him out of his misery. How did the mere sight of a weak, human woman cause his mouth to dry up, his body to tense again? He hadn’t understood it at first, the appeal of Earth women (and he  _ still _ didn’t understand the appeal of anyone but Bulma), but now he sees her juxtapositions. The razor’s edge of her brain that won her battles, her milky skin and soft muscle tone. Her inventions’ power, the feeble beat of her heart that could be extinguished without a second thought. The strength of the son she bore him, her eccentric coloring showing how unusual she was, even by human standards.

His past self wouldn’t have cared much for the lace and silk framing her form; it would never have suited a Saiyan woman, or even worked on the Saiyan he had been before. The corners of her lip curved up and her gaze lit a match across his body, every inch inflamed.

Finally, he had almost reached release from this endless waiting. She took a step forward, then another, and she was almost close enough to brush against if he strained against the bindings—

She stepped past him, cracking open a magazine as she settled on her chaise.

Vegeta ground his teeth. Here she was, just  _ playing _ at power. They both knew who was in control here, who had asked for this, who could break free at any moment and now  _ she _ thought to turn the tables on  _ him? _

Oh, but he could control himself too, he stewed. Losing control was exactly what she had wanted him to do. He had waited for years under Frieza’s rule for an opportunity to break away and exact his revenge; he could wait however long the woman wanted to play this game.

She licked her finger, dipping it just a little too far into her mouth and dragging it a little too long down her tongue for it to be accidental. The whisper of paper turning barely registered in his senses, so consumed was he with the shine in her eyes that belied her otherwise flawless indifference.

It was there and then gone, her focus back on the page. 

The passage of time was hard to measure like this. Every second an eternity, a struggle to control himself until Bulma saw fit to end this torture. The sheets were no longer silky against his back and the arms stretched above his head; his sensitive skin felt the coarseness of every fiber but that discomfort yielded no distraction from the blue-haired delilah beside him. 

It was an endless cycle of hell. 

She turned the page, the waft of air sending him yet another potent hit of her scent.

A minute later, she turned the page again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And  _ again. _

He wanted every maddening detail  _ out _ of his head. She paid him no attention but he couldn’t help but notice every detail about her: her sweet smell, the product of whatever lotions she delighted in overpowered by the heady scent of her own arousal; her sound, those soft gasps she made, the murmurs of approval as she read; her sight, rosy cheeks sharp against her blue hair and the expanse of creamy skin angled just so in his view, but still he wanted more. Fuck, he was so lost in sensation, he could practically taste her. 

He was sick of waiting—he wanted to savor her taste, feel her skin under his calloused palms. “Just get on with it, Bulma!” he burst.

He knew danger when she smirked. 

“Mm. I don’t think I will. After all, when I have this,” shifting the cushions, she pulled a rabbit vibrator he was  _ very _ familiar with into view, “really, why would I need you at all?” Another shift and she had a bottle of lube in hand, coating the dildo as she slid her hand up and down its length.

Teeth clenched, his jaw tightening and he shut his eyes, drawing a single deep breath before he realized his mistake. He switched tactics, holding his breath to avoid any more of her intoxicating scent, but it didn’t stop him from hearing the gasp that passed her lips when she slid the length over her clit, slow and steady. 

His self-restraint cracked, turning his head to watch her movements.

Half-lidded eyes focused on nothing at all yet only on him, Bulma’s neck arching as she traced the head lower, teasing herself. Her arm flowed, continuing to trace along the rim before she pressed inward more suddenly than he could follow, caught off-guard by the motion. She sunk deeper, pressing in inch by inch until she reached the hilt, moaning at the vibration, the double stimulation, the pressure both inside and out. 

He closed his eyes again, pulling on the restraints.  _ Fuck. _

She was tormenting him.  _ Intentionally. _

“Vegeta,” she panted his name. 

That was it. He had enough of these games; he was going to  _ show her _ who she was dealing with. Abdominal muscles clenching, he pulled at the restraints bound to the artisanally crafted iron of the head and footboard—as if any mere metals could hold him—intending to snap them in one fluid motion.

Nothing. 

His chest rumbled in dissatisfaction and he reached for his ki, knowing full well the power sequestered there would eradicate whatever development Bulma had made that bound him here. 

The surging power he expected to feel from his core to his fingertips never came. 

Panic began to set in. Vegeta called for his energy again.

Still nothing.

The weight of eyes set upon him and he looked to Bulma, whose full attention he now commanded. No trace of surprise on her features—just that same knowing smirk and mischievous energy in her eyes from before. She knew exactly what was going on. 

“Bulma,” he began, careful to control his tone. “What did you do.”

She looked around on either side, as if it couldn’t  _ possibly _ be her he was accusing. “Who? Me?”

Vegeta gritted his teeth. “Yes. You.”

She smirked. “Oh, I was just making sure you had enough time for the ki-suppressants to kick in.”

...Ki-suppressants? 

What. 

The. __

_ Fuck. _

“Surprised?” Bulma asked, sliding the vibrator out as she stood to cross to the bed, tapping it against her thigh. “It was just a little something I whipped up in the lab while you’ve been busy training Trunks in the Gravity Room for the last month.”

_ “What?” _

“Yeah. Weren’t you the one that told me my cuffs were too weak, and could never hold anyone as strong as you?” Bulma cooed, tracing her fingers down the side of his face. “That a human woman could never match a Saiyan and that’s just how it was; that you had accepted my paltry imitation of domination?”

He froze. Those words did sound… vaguely familiar. 

The dildo tapped the side of his face, a wet smack against his skin. “Well?”

Vegeta hesitated. There was no safe way out of this conflict. Not when it came to her. Not until he knew exactly  _ what _ the woman had done so he could counteract it.

“No response? Shocker, that one, for someone who normally has such a big mouth.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but her finger pressed against his lips before he had a chance. “Shush.”

“What was I saying? Well.” Her finger lifted from his lips, trailing to his bicep and then up his arm until she stopped at the cuff encircling his wrist. “In both humans and Saiyans, the skin is naturally thinner at the wrist. So, with my new ki-suppressant, all it took was the discovery that it could be used in transdermal applications, a little trial and error formulation, and voilà, thirty minutes after you put those on, your ki was blocked for… Oh, the next two hours or so. I had Gohan test the prototypes.” She grinned, her sharp nails scraping down his chest, the tips just grazing razor-thin paths into the surface of his skin. “So I assume it’ll take even longer for it to wear off for you.”

A cold dose of uncertainty spiked through him. He hadn’t ever given thought to this as a possibility, having his access to his ki stripped from him without so much as him noticing. But as he tried one more time to yank on the restraints binding him, he knew what she said to be true. His powers, and he, were locked up tight.

“You can always use the safe word, if this _ wasn’t  _ actually something you wanted,” Bulma said.

“Of course not!” he snapped. “Saiyans don’t have safe words.”

She snorted. “Fine. You can always use  _ my _ safe word. Unless you can’t handle not being in control,” she raised her eyebrow, challenge evident. He growled in response.

But still, uncertainty was beginning to turn into fear, his nervous system activating his fight response. This was a situation he hadn’t found himself in for years, so used to having control, wielding the power his years of training had honed. His breathing sped up. He was powerless, subject to the whims of another—

“Shh,” Bulma whispered, placing a kiss to his temple, her other hand cradling his cheek. “You don’t have to worry. I’m going to take care of you, I promise. I promise I’ll  _ always _ take care of you.”

Her touch was so warm, and he found himself relaxing into her palm, the tender stroke of her palm over his cheek quelling his nerves.

She dropped her hand from his face, his head falling back on the mattress. Manicured nails trailed from his collarbone, across his chest, hands tracing parallel paths as they scraped over his skin. They drifted to his obliques and swung across his hip bones, tracing the dip of muscle there and Vegeta shuddered, her hands skirting just past the spot he wanted most before her right hand joined her left. Fingers spanned his meaty thigh as they continued their descent lower, gliding along the tender flesh of his inner thigh and the tendons at the back of his knee and his calf, coming to a rest at his ankle just above the restraint and pressing a kiss there.

Her lips traced her path back up and she spared no effort in marking every inch of his flesh with a kiss. He was twisting under her hands, she was everywhere at once and it felt so good but still not exactly where he needed her and so he writhed at the split sensation, the pleasure of her feel and the yearning for what was to come _ —all good things to those who wait— _ but he wanted her now, was straining to keep his sanity in check even though it had nowhere to go. 

She was back at his neck now, dropping hot wet kisses along the responsive skin of his jawline.

Pride left him, too overwhelmed at the sensation and the nearness of her, smell and sight and feel too much to maintain his restraint. He angled his head, presenting his neck to her. Vulnerable.

Bulma attacked his neck, nipping and sucking and tongue lathing and he whimpered at the contact. He struggled fruitlessly against the restraints again, tugging on the headboard frame because he wanted to touch her,  _ needed  _ to touch her. But his efforts make no difference, and he panted as he lay there, helpless while Bulma continued to pleasure him with her lips and tongue and hands.

It tickled, the feather-soft press of her kisses as she trailed down his pectorals and then across the planes of his abdomen. 

His cock was so stiff it was weeping—had been for longer than he cared to admit—and he had been waiting for her for so long that when she took him in hand and strokes it felt like he had been starved, every sensation heightened by his bound position. In the absence of control he could not predict her next move, cannot know fully where her next kiss will be. Every move was under her control and he was just relishing in each gift she bestowed upon him, in her delight at each twitch she drew from his hips and each sharp intake of breath through his lips. He tried to hold his treacherous body still, couldn’t let Bulma know how much he was he was enjoying this newest brand of torture she’d chosen to inflict on him.

That resolve broke the second her lips wrapped around his cock.

He melted in her arms, the warm heat of her mouth burning away his resolve but it was over before he could savor the feeling, and then she was straddling him and he was pushing inside and it was like his brain had short-circuited because after so much waiting and so much teasing he was sliding home, and it felt so goddamn good to be underneath her, he didn’t know why he had ever struggled when this was waiting at the end.

Pounding down on him, she set a furious rhythm, the friction and heat and speed combining to send him already careening straight to orgasm.

But _ fuck _ no, he was  _ Vegeta, _ he was supposed to have more control over himself than this and so he struggled against the restraints again, just hoping in her arrogance to leave him waiting she’d given him enough time to burn through her paltry human medication faster than Kakarot’s spawn.

Before he could even tug he felt her hands grip his wrists and pin them back down to the mattress. “Uh, uh. I don’t think so,” she chastised, holding his wrists in place.The pace picked back up right where she had left off, and he couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips when she dipped her head to nip and lathe at his jaw, to drag her tongue along the side of his neck and up to suck on his earlobe, to kiss down the sharp line of his jaw.

One hand left his wrists before sinking into his hair, grip tightening to tilt his head to expose his throat further and he whimpered under her hands when she sucked hard, teeth nipping at the tender skin immediately afterwards. He was used to pain, prizing it to advance his power and as a symbol of his growth as a warrior but this pain was exquisite: the way she switched from sharp love bites to tender caresses the next moment.

The pleasure-pain combination had him squirming under her again and it was too soon, still far too soon. Bulma may have been in charge, but  _ he _ was deciding that it wasn’t over, thank you very much. 

Unfortunately for his plans, Bulma had been his wife for years and  _ she _ knew that despite the pounding rhythm that he favors with her, it’s the steady, consistent pace that makes him savor every moment and she had matched it perfectly. He was close, too close, wound so tight that he looked down at her sinking down on his cock and one more stroke and he’d be there—

His anticipation was brought abruptly crashing to a halt when Bulma’s body did the same. 

Panting, he almost screamed in frustration. She worked him so close and then tore it away at the last second—

“Hey.” A hand soothed his burning cheek. “Look at me.”

He looked up. 

Bulma was hovering above him, sweaty and fearless and enthralling, eyes still alight with determination—but for what? He didn’t know. The battle had already been won. 

She laid two fingers on his cheek, tilting his head to the side. “Now look there.”

Next to her dresser, the full length mirror reflected his body, ravaged and hair sticking up even more than usual. When Bulma leaned down to kiss the side of his face, he watched the moment her lips met his skin and he sighed. He looked… loved. Taken care of. Not a challenge to be beaten down, but a prize. All he had to do was lay there and Bulma started the rhythm again, her gaze never leaving his from the reflective surface. He glanced downward, watching her sink onto his cock, kiss down the side of his throat, trail her hands across his chest as she settled back into the pace. He could see every powerful thrust of her body, and the sensation matched with the vision in the mirror did something to him and he was tensing again already. So when Bulma picked up the pace, leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek and ghost  _ I love you _ over his ear when stars exploded behind his eyes, hips pumping with what little control they have as Bulma rode him through his orgasm, every muscle in his body tightening and relaxing at once and he just… floated, thoughts hazy and limbs loose, the restraints relaxing once he finally laid still.

Bulma was off in a flash and he winced at the sudden action, the friction dragging across his oversensitized flesh. Another second and she was wiping him down with a washcloth, the cool water soothing his fevered skin. She smiled and he felt  _ warm, _ not in the burning way desire had, but somewhere deep within. He was glad she enjoyed it.

She freed his wrists from the restraints and he curled onto his side, cradling his wrist tight to his skin. Rubbing his hand across the sensitive skin there, he knew it was already too late. The gel had all seeped into his skin, and now all he could do was wait until the effect wore off. 

Something pressed against his back and he stiffened, then relaxed into the embrace, feeling Bulma’s arms wrap around him from behind. 

It had felt incredible, that much he couldn’t deny. But still, he trained every day for a reason: he was supposed to have control no matter what, and that she was able to take it away from him so easily (even though he  _ had _ asked for it, he fumed) was more indignity than he was willing to suffer. There should be no one, nowhere, that could be able to overpower him anymore. He would make sure of it. He didn’t know how or when, but it  _ would _ happen. 

There was one thing he did know, though, he thought as her arm stroked languidly up and down his arm. When the ki-suppressants wore off, she was going to  _ regret  _ springing this on him.


End file.
